


Of A World Undone

by zombiesoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Angst, Derek Has Issues, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Stiles, Stilinskis Know About Werewolves, but when doesn't he?, derek and stiles grew up together, gypsy life, runaways - Freeform, sick, southern!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiesoup/pseuds/zombiesoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek ran away from his pack, his family, years ago.</p><p>Stiles was left alone even longer before that.</p><p>They meet again in the worst possible place, where Derek is The King of the Burnouts, and Stiles is waiting for his turn to do just that; burn out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fragile Heart

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> __  
> _"Cause I was born and raised_  
>  _To live beyond_  
>  _The heft and weight_  
>  _Of a world undone_
> 
>  
> 
> _But I don’t mean to be a bother_  
>  _I don’t need you to take my burden away_  
>  _And I ain’t afraid of dying_  
>  _Cold and alone"_  
> 

“So, Derek, why do you think Jonas interrupted the other kid’s game of good guys and bad guys?”

Mrs. Stilinski’s warm southern drawl snapped Derek out of his preoccupation of dog-earing the pages of his copy of The Giver. Hazel eyes snapped up to the woman’s pale face, trying to remember which part of the book he was supposed to be at.

The woman smiled, leaning back on the kitchen counter behind her, folded arms breaking from around her chest to brace themselves on the smooth granite. Honey eyes sweeping back and forth between the two children seated at the dining room table before her.

“Uh..” Derek supplied, looking down at his book as though the answer was going to project into his mind at any second. He looked back up to his teacher, tiny fang worrying his bottom lip. “I dunno, Miss.”

Raising a brow at the boy, she swiveled her hips to place herself in the other student’s line of vision. 

“Alright, Stiles, I can see you itching in your seat. Go ahead, hit me.” She teased, putting her hands to the ceiling in submission.

Said Stiles, turned his head, looking toward Derek apologetically, looking as though the older boy would eat him for stealing his thunder. Derek just rolled his eyes, tried to pretend it wasn’t a pout on his face, and slid down his chair.

“Jonas thought the game was mean, cause it was making fun of war and stuff and cause he wasn’t taking his medicine anymore he could see that it was bad.”

“Very good, sweetie.” Mrs. Stilinski praised, turning around and sweeping her papers off the counter, the figures of two teens bumbling in from the hall connecting the living room.

Derek had never been more relieved to see Laura and Patrick, traipsing into the kitchen and snickering about their lesson while rioting though the fridge. He completely slid out of his chair, and scrambled to follow after them, running into his mother’s hip. She glared down at her youngest son, rolling her eyes in a familiar way before taking her spot at Claudia’s side. 

Cora and Hannah joined their older siblings in the kitchen, followed by their Uncle Peter who wore an over exasperated expression on his face.

“Alright, you lot of insufferable minions-” He started in a low timber, scowling at the group huddled around the fridge, staring at the contents but not connecting anything as edible. “Who wants fried peanut butter and jellies?”  
The collective hoots and howls were enough consensus for Peter, and he squeezed into the mob of kids to get to work. Derek smiled with his siblings, clamboring to find a spot at the kitchen island before all the seats got occupied. Laura ended up sitting on him, and even though he complained loudly, he really didn’t mind. His big sister cackled, ruffling his mop of black hair, leaning against Patrick to fill the gap between them and the chairs.

_“Mama, can we go home now?”_

Derek turned his head away from where Cora was spreading peanut butter on Hannah’s cheek, Hannah spreading grape jelly on Cora’s, looking over to the small voice he was familiar with now. Stiles was tugging on his mom’s sleeve, shouldering his backpack up higher where it was slipping down with his windbreaker.

_“Don’t you wanna stay and play with the Hales? They’re making goober sandwiches.”_

Derek could smell the anxiety rolling off the eight year old, shuffling in his shoes and looking over to the other kids. Laura had joined Derek in the rubbernecking, her smile falling off her face as she harshly pulled on Derek’s ear.

“Stop eavesdropping you nerd. It’s not nice.”

“You were doing it, too! It’s kind of hard not to hear them anyway.”

“Well, just pretend to listen to someone else, gah. You’re so dumb.”

Derek huffed, rubbing at his ear and keeping his gaze on Peter flipping the messy sandwiches out of the pan and onto plates. But, being ten years old didn’t mean he had to be mature, and he kept his head slightly turned so his right ear was toward the Stilinskis.

_“I didn’t take my medicine like Jonas didn’t take his medicine this morning.”_

_“Sweetie! why would you do that?”_

_“I dunno, I dunno, I’m sorry, mama. I didn’t take ‘em yesterday, either. I jus’ thought I didn’t need ‘em. And now my tummy hurts, and my head hurts, and I’m tired, and I really wanna jus’ go home.”_

Mrs. Stilinski must have silently agreed with her son, because the next thing Derek knew she was shouting her goodbye’s to his mom and Peter.

“See y’all rascals bright and early! Be good tonight!”

And with that they were gone, the front door clicking shut behind them.

Derek turned to look at Laura, the unsettled expression on her face gave his sister away. He knows she’s feeling guilt from not checking the human’s heart beat, like they all seemed to do at least once throughout the day. It helped them, picking out the uneven rhythm from everyone else. He feels guilty, too, having sat next to him for six hours.

And maybe he would have been more worried if this were the first time it’d happened.

But it wasn’t, so Derek wasn’t.

 

\--------

Derek was ten.

Stiles was eight.

Derek was a werewolf.

Stiles was a human with a shoddy heart.

Derek always won playing Mario Kart.

Stiles always lost playing Mario Kart.

Except today, just now, and Stiles was dropping the controller to the ground as he jumped up, hollering and celebrating his way onto the couch, jumping up and down. 

“FINALLY!” He cheered, throwing his fist into the air.

“Yeah, yeah, live it up Stilinski. Like it’ll ever happen again”

“You’re jus’ bein’ a sourwolf cause I whooped your butt!”

“Maybe I let you win?”

“No way, I saw how your eyebrows got all angry when I shrunk you and ran over you with Toad to get to first.”

Stiles closed his eyes, doing a little shimmy on the arm of the couch. Derek rolled his eyes, turning around to start a rematch without Stiles knowing so he’d have to scramble to catch up. As his Bowser rocketed out into first place, he smirked. 

Before he could even wonder why Stiles hadn’t shrieked in protest and fought to get to his controller, he felt the loud whump of a body hitting the ground, something crashing right after.

Derek spun around on his knees, eyes shining gold in his startled state, flicking around where Stiles had been until they landed on where Stiles was.

Passed out, on the floor, the end-table lamp shattered by his head, blood slipping down his stark white forehead.

Derek leaned over him, his hands hovering and shaking over the still body, not sure if he was supposed to move Stiles, and he knew he really should have listened to Mrs. Stilinski instead of Laura’s conversation about- oh god, he couldn’t even remember.

“MOM!” He yelled, backing up from Stiles, already hearing his mother’s footsteps, she probably had been coming since the second the lamp shattered, her expression turning from aggravated to alarmed when her son howled her name.

“Derek, honey, get back, give him some space.” Talia calmly spoke, pressing a hand against the younger boy’s chest, waiting for his heartbeat to get back to it’s not so normal pace. She heaved out a sigh of relief, sitting back on her haunches, turning tile’s head to examine the cut on his forehead.

“I didn’t know what to do, I should have listened, I’m sorry, mom. I shouldn’t of let him on the couch.” Derek muttered helplessly, bowing his head down in apology. 

“It’s not so bad, when he comes back to, Derek, don’t make a big deal about it. He might have a concussion, so don’t let him fall asleep until Mrs. Claudia gets here, okay?”

Talia sat with her son, the gold bleeding out of his eyes until they were their normal hazel. and smiled down at Stiles when he woke back up. He sat up slowly, confused like always, mumbling incoherently to himself.

“Hey, sunshine.” Talia cooed, “took a pretty mighty fall there.”

Stiles eyes were heavy, and Derek knew he was usually groggy after an episode, but he tried his best to smile at him, even if he was still freaking out on the inside. “Think you can kick my butt in Mario Kart again?”

“Yeah D’rek, can’t wait t’make you cry like the puppy you are.” Stiles slurred out the taunt, shifting from Talia, feeling at the blood in his eyebrow. He wiped at it with the back of his sleeve, watching Talia go to the nearest bathroom to grab him the first aid kit. After he was all patched up, he grinned smug and wide at Derek, taking his spot back in front of the Nintendo, taking the screen off pause and squawking when he realized Derek had started without him. “Hey butthead! That’s cheating!”

Derek smiled the best he could, giving Stiles sometime to catch up before continuing on to beat him once again.

They play video games for a few more hours, Claudia finally getting back to the Hale house. Talia whispers what had happened earlier, and Claudia nods and accepts in in a way no mother should have to, bracing her face with a smile before scooping her son up.

The mother’s both agree that Stiles can come back tomorrow, if the two boys both promised to go to bed without a fight. Stiles agreed quickly, rambling about how tired he was with several different examples to compare with.

Like more tired than a bat in the day time...or maybe a bird with no feet so it can’t ever land... I bet they get real tired..

Stiles went home, his mother giving her own weird comparisons of sleepy things, and Derek helped his mother clean up the lamp before trudging off to his room and going to sleep.

 

\--------

Stiles doesn’t come back.

And when Derek finds out it’s because Mrs. Stilinski passed away in some freak accident, he knows Stiles isn’t coming back.

He goes to the funeral with his family, uncomfortable with all the strangers, all the terrible scents his nose picks up.

When he finds Stiles, he’s hiding behind a tree, eyes red and nose running, his sleeve already caked with snot. And Derek, he doesn’t know what to do, he’s too young to understand how hard it is to lose someone so close.

But, Stiles is even younger, and he just lost half of his world. He’s too young to _have_ to understand how hard this is. 

So, when he pitches forward and Derek catches him, he doesn’t mind letting the boy cry into his shoulder, because he can’t go to anyone else, because his dad is too busy being strong for the few relatives Stiles has out there.

And when Derek says goodbye after the service, he hadn’t known it’d be years before he saw Stiles again.

Before he saw his best friend again.

Before Stiles never came back.

Before Derek left behind his pack.


	2. Underneath the Dead Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _"And like the sea_  
>  _I'm constantly changing from calm to ill_  
>  _Madness fills my heart and soul as if the great divide could swallow me whole_  
>  _Oh, how I'm breaking down"_  
> 

Derek would never get used to how beautiful the Texas sunset was.The dusk blistered by the sun’s final act. Mahogany, tangerine, fuchsia, lavender., he felt like he could reach his fingers past the strewn out cotton clouds, and pull them away to be covered in quickly cooling wax, warm and smooth, sweet like citrus.

And he wondered, if the sky could really be that beautiful? Could something so mundane really cause him to wax poetic to the shedding twinkle of the pure stars that hid beneath the creamy sherbert sky? Could the translucent moon, eager to shine, really make him write sonnets in the dim glow of his caravan?

Or was he just really fucked up?

Yeah, he was going with the latter on this one.

Flipping his middle finger to the sky, he jumped the steps down to the dead, yellowed grass, hand gripping the hand of someone else as he redirected his path toward the allure of the bonfire a ways away. Plucking the joint from his companions finger, inhaling the milky smoke and letting it out in rings into the fire. The girl swirled away into the mass of bodies dancing on the other side, and Derek grinned, ashing the joint before taking another long pull. Cracking his neck, he turned, eyes skittering over the candle lit mason jars littering the clearing they claimed as their temporary home.

All these lost souls group together, a family of lovers and misfits.

His naked feet carried him to a nest of sun-bleached serape blankets, littered with humans and werewolves, drinking wolfsbane punch, lilac petals sinking to the bottom of the jug, playing the guitar and singing folk songs from decades ago. He was instantly pulled into the circle, grabbing the jug that sat in the middle and helping himself to his fair share. 

Derek let the warmth of the alcohol wash over him, goosebumps lighting up down his arms and spine. 

They had arrived somewhere in the middle of Texas four days ago, taking in more stragglers along the way, people drawn to the sounds of stoned joy finding their way. to the campsite, joining in the celebration of life for a couple of nights, before the camp whisked itself away to a new location, a new string of sunsets and twilights.

Derek liked Texas so far, how warm it seemed to be at all times during the fall, the earth still heated by the blazing summer. The night wind always carried a fair amount of chill with it, enough to cool his skin and sweat. 

The people he surrounded himself with all took great joy in the supernatural, were believers long before Derek came into their lives. And hey, there were even a few other werewolves,and a group of nymphs to boot.The stragglers that found their way in were usually too far strung out to care or even remember by morning, sticking around to get their fix of whatever poison for whatever ailed them. So, Derek couldn’t really find himself the time to get hung up on the matter.

The liquor and weed mixed heavy in his blood, settling in his bones and warming him up.. He watched the three nymphs dance with bluebonnets, laughing into the darkening sky, and felt his smile grow fonder.

It was like being home, a new home, that wasn’t tied down with an address.Derek couldn’t even remember his old address, pushing the thoughts of Beacon Hills to the back of his mind, letting the warm glow of his high take over like a slow punch. Stepping over a sleeping couple, Derek embraced the night with open arms, letting someone invade his space with chaste kisses, sweet smoke sticking in their hair. Fingers carded through his hair, tugging gently at the nape of his neck, his eyes leveling with the sky.

“C’mon, oh mighty king, let us hear you howl!”

Derek grinned, eyes inking gold as he tipped his head all the way back, laughing until the howl bubbled from the pit of his stomach, passed his lungs and throat, lighting up faces and resounding with the stars.

The group cheered, a few offering their own human howls, and raised their drinks or their drugs in the air, an informal toast to the informal king of the burnouts.

And as Derek’s eyes crinkled at their corners, he missed the wary, tawny eyes that watched his retreating back in a cocktail of horror, confusion, and fondness. Missed the teeth biting into a worried bottom lip, missed the boy whose body was a permanently painted canvas, missed his childhood slinking back to a group of strangers, a wry smirk pulling at the corners of their mouth.

\--------------

Derek was out-of-his-wits fucked up lying on his back in the grass, staring up at the Milky Way, watching it spin in a jerky loop. He barely noticed when the warmth of a body pressed up along his side. His eyes found their way down to the arms of the new arrival, littered with tattoos and track mars, the skin beneath milky white, dotted with freckles that spun like the stars.

Derek shook his head, closing his eyes tightly for a moment to get his graces back.The body next to him shook, in what could be laughter, but Derek couldn’t really tell, or care. He just needed the world to stop spinning for just a moment.

“Lil’ sourwolf ain’t so little anymore,” the voice slurred.

Derek blinked away some fuzz, tilting his head up, only for it to roll back the other way.

A sigh pushed passed his ear, a notion he barely felt.

“What could’ve happened to bring you here?”

Derek looked up, catching a glimpse of burnt caramel orbs, framed by thick webs of lashes, reflecting the light from a candle nearby.

He passed out before he could answer.

\-----------

He woke up to the sun too hot on his face, letting him know it was sometime around noon. He silently thanked whatever deity controlled his life for letting him be born a werewolf, because the hangover everyone else seemed to be experiencing, never hit him.

He sat up, immediately assaulted by a mess of blond curls and cackling.

“Derbear! You’re up! Fucking finally, thought I was going to have to shake _‘the king’_ awake.” Erica jested, air quoting lazily on each side of her head.

“Fuck off, Erica,” Derek growled scratching fingers down his scruff, watching dried grass fall from it.

“Where’s that little human you were curled up with?” 

Derek’s eyes snapped up to Boyd, confusion washing over his expression, head tilting to the side. 

“Uh, I don’t remember?” He offered weakly, shrugging his shoulders.

“He was pretty adorable, had some pretty cool ink. Speaking of, we should totally get tattooed together.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea, unless you happen to have a blowtorch on hand?”

Erica’s face dropped with appall, audibly gulping before shaking her head frantically. “Never mind, forget I said anything. That sounds like the most awful thing to ever awful, and I have a high pain tolerance.” 

Boyd laughed, messing the girl’s hair before pulling her to her feet. Her hand quickly grabbed Derek’s wrist, more or less bringing him with them, but really just making him fall forward. The cackle it earned him was horrifying.

“Get up, Scarecrow, you’re loyal peasants made you food.”

Growling, he stood, brushing himself off and shaking off any embarrassment. It was just Erica and Boyd, after all, they’ve all seen worse from each other on a pretty much daily basis.

He glanced down to his hands, suddenly presented with a small pain in his palm. He would have to remember not to sleep next to a patch of stickers next time, or well, just make it to his caravan really. He went to pick the tiny intruder from his palm, and stopped, staring down at the smudged blue ink on his skin.

_see ya sourwolf_

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, something strange washing over him, chilling his skin and flipping his stomach. His breath fell short and his chest tightened. But as soon as the moment started, it was gone, and Derek was flicking the sticker away and wiping his hand down the side of his jeans, moving to catch up with Erica and Boyd, ignoring their worried expressions.

“So, we eat, and then how about we pack up and get moving?”

“What? No way. It’s freaking awesome here. I say we stay for at least another night.”

“She’s right, Derek. It’s pretty cool here. I wouldn’t mind staying.”

Derek side stepped a suspicious ring of mushrooms, glaring up at Erica. Something was here that he didn’t like, his ‘run Derek, run far away and never look back’ senses were tingling so hard they were practically on fire. But, he supposed one more night wouldn’t kill him.

And if it did, then hopefully he’d go out high as fuck.

\------------

The night wrapped around everyone like a warm velvet blanket, sprinkled with rhinestones and smelling sweet like honeysuckle. The crescendo of cicadas a calming orchestra, giving background to Lydia’s vocals and Jackson’s drum, Isaac’s keyboard. The mob of bodies dancing to their version of Howl by Florence and The Machine. It was like a piece of work you’d find at an exhibit, somehow everyone coming off as choreographed. Derek twirled Erica around, her body loose and moving with the vibration of the drum, letting herself get lifted by Boyd, twisting in his arms as he raised her poised body into the air.Derek rolled his head over his shoulders, closing his eyes and taking in the rhythm, the thrum of bodies embracing him, a set of long fingers taking his hand and pulling him in deeper. dancing with him, staying out of his vision, but keeping a connection at all times. Derek tried catching a glimpse, but only caught flashes of faded color and moon washed skin, the unsettling burn of aged scotch. He closed his hazel eyes, willing the feeling away and shivering at the feel of hands running down his arms, a body pulling him close, before pushing him away at the climax of the song. 

When Derek settled his footing and looked up, he could only see the retreating form of a lithe body, broad shoulders framing the ink stained figure of a wolf, faded to a dark grey, darker lines giving it bold definition, making the stark gold eyes stand out in contrast. The image settled deep in Derek’s gut, watching the tattoo move as its canvas danced away from him.

And Derek, though his mind wished against it, followed after it, keeping his eyes trained on the wolf the best he could in the mass encircling and pulsing around him. He shouldered his way through the thick of it, getting a break when Lydia and her boys paused before starting up their next song and pushing through to the clearing, 

Whoever he was following was gone, and Derek wished he paid attention to their scent enough to be able to single them out. He stood, his mouth agape as he whirled around, looking for the painted stranger, that same sick feeling from earlier draping over his skin.

And that’s when it hit him, the faint scent of evergreen and medicine, veiled with sweat , smoke and the sweetened smell of burnt plastic.

 _“Stiles?”_ Derek turned slowly, catching the wide, lazy grin that barely reached the swirls of honey and molasses that were the boy’s eyes.

“Sup, bunnyteeth?”

Derek knew they should have left today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  dun duun duuunnn  
> Chapter two dooowwwwnn.  
> Thanks to anyone that left kudos, or even bothered to take the time to read this!  
> Any criticism would be lovely, I'm tough, so fire away, and tell me what you think.
> 
> Lyrics from _Sleeping Sickness by City and Colour_  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> whoo! my first ao3 fic.  
> un-beta'd because I'm a closet fic writer D:  
> I have no idea how many chapters there will be because I suck at planning.  
> Let me know if you see any mistakes!!  
>  __  
> Title from Harder Than Stone by City and Colour
> 
>  
> 
> _and this fic was inspired by The Love Club by Lorde_  
> 


End file.
